


ad astra

by Brimwylf



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Betrayal, College of Winterhold - Freeform, Gen, Necromancy, Parental Relationships, The Black Star, Tragedy, a fleshing out of the story that lead to the black star quest, dubious magical ethics, tragic friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:28:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21656554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brimwylf/pseuds/Brimwylf
Summary: The stars are holes in the fabric of Mundus, pinpricks of light where the Magna-Ge fled to Aetherius. Up among them, the many mysteries of Mundus may be solved. In the one star left on terra firma, answers remain to be divined.Or; what happened before The Black Star quest, and the slow downward spiral of a class of apprentices and their enchanting trainer.
Relationships: Malyn Varen & Original Female Character(s), Nelacar & Malyn Varen, Nelacar & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i wish i had a fuller explanation for this than "i replayed the black star questline and nelacar's description of events always gives me an idea for a full narrative for what happened priot to the quest." so, this is a full narrative of what happened prior to the quest - a story of nelacar, altmeri apprentice, and malyn varen, dunmeri master enchanter, and the machinations of daedra and their stars. 
> 
> liberties taken with the college of winterhold and its operations for narrative benefit.

The mirror in the room’s corner, pressed against one wall, was imported, standing like a lone sentinel against the cold stone. Between the heavy cedar armoire and the wrought iron light fixture, it looked almost like a plaything; the kind of prop they put on an imperial stage to be broken halfway through the play. If you looked closely at the side of this mirror, even, there was a hairline crack in the moonstone, snaking up along the edge and waiting for an actor to crack against it in a moment of tension. It was, undoubtedly, the most fragile thing in the room, although there could be a contention made about the man who was examining the crack, amulet of Syrabane clutched in gloved fingers. In the deep silence of the room, and as close to his face as it was, he could hear the amulet hum with magic, a familiar and comforting noise. He followed the crack along the mirror’s side with his finger, tracing it from the middle of the mirror to almost the top, where the crack ended at the paramount carving, a serene face. Nelacar cursed, and dropped his hand. 

The room the mirror reflected was a whirlwind, the mess of a life uprooted and shaken out into another place. A traveling trunk was open on the floor, and it was eviscerated, its contents half put away and half scattered about. Nelacar looked at it with a lazy despair, and slipped the amulet over his neck. It dropped into its familiar place, and the blessing passed through him like a cool breeze. It had taken him an hour to find this damn thing, slipped into the lining of the trunk during the jostle of transport, and he swore now that he’d never take it off again. He clasped his hands around it, and didn’t quite pray, but spent a silent moment, staring at the task before him. 

It was not a momentous task. He’d had momentous tasks before - he’d sorted his father’s paperwork, where every piece of parchment had to be with its companions in triplicate, and he’d been responsible for entertaining his father’s guests. This was a no-account task, once it’d been begun, and by the time the knock came on the door, he was done with most of the organizing. His clothes were in the dresser, and all that was left were the soul gems that he’d spilled on the floor when he upturned the trunk looking for his amulet. They glittered like out-of-place stars on the floor, and he scowled at them, hurriedly kicking them into one pile. 

The knock came again - two knocks, close together and almost loud, with the precision of a blacksmith’s hammer. They would not come a third time, he knew, and he hurried to the door, straightening up as he opened it and putting a lack of an expression on his face. His father’s eyebrow was already raised as he came in, but it dropped at the sight of the somewhat organized room, and the almost-pile of soul gems on the floor. Curanil nodded to himself and looked at his son with his ever-appraising eye. 

“I see you’re trying to make this place hospitable,” Curanil said, stepping forward with the correct assumption that his son would move aside. It was an attempt at humor, though no one ever claimed that humor and Curanil were on speaking terms. Nelacar smiled in response to it, and Curanil nodded. This wasn’t so much a conversation as a call-and-response. 

“I know this isn’t ideal,” Curanil began, with a wide gesture at the room, “but you know that it isn’t my will, it’s the will of the Thalmor. And we must obey that will.” 

“I know, father.” 

“And though the surroundings are hardly… adequate,” Curanil wrinkled his nose, “at the very least we won’t have to postpone your education. Of course, it will not be on the same level, but this is the only option in this backwater. The destruction master is an Altmer, you’ll note, though she hardly seems proper - if she was proper, would she be teaching in this backwater?”

“No, certainly not,” Nelacar responded - the appropriate response. “She’d be teaching in Alinor. Weren’t you talking to Vaelandare about her coming with this envoy for my training?” 

“I’ve never met a woman more stubborn,” Curanil scowled. “If she’d agreed to come, I could take you to Solitude. The best destruction mage I know, and she refuses to teach. It’s not like she’s above teaching you, I-” 

“Nelacar, is it? The enchanter wants to -”

The nord woman who’d popped her head around the doorframe cut off with wide eyes, glancing between the two Altmer with her hand over her mouth. She sputtered out her apologies as Curanil’s eyebrow raised like the headsman’s axe.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she was composed now, speaking quickly, “but when you have the chance, Enchanter Varen wants to see you, since you're going to specialize in his school. He's on the second floor of the hall of countenance - when you're ready, you can stop by my room and I'll show you."

She disappeared behind the doorframe, and from some other part of the hall laughter erupted. 

"You shall certainly _not_ be stopping by her room," Curanil said, predictably. "But I'm glad that you've already caught the attention of the enchanting master. You will not keep him waiting, and I should not keep the carriage waiting any longer either."

Nelacar nodded, playing his role. His father put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed, reaching his hand up to push Nelacar's hair out of his face with unusual fondness. A smile flickered on and off his face like the snowflakes outside the hall.

"When I see you in Solitude, you'll be a man," Curanil said, "and I hope it will be soon."

With that, he was gone, the heavy doors of the Hall of Attainment closing and the cold draft he'd let in swiftly snaking its way through the quarters and between the folds of Nelacar's robe. He shivered, and grabbed his cloak from the chair by the door, bouncing on the balls or his feet for a moment before striding out more decisively than he felt. At the door of the room across from his stood the woman from earlier; she waved, smile splitting across her face. Nelacar matched it with a paper-thin one of his own, and she covered the distance between them in a wink, walking on the wall of the well like an Altmer trapeze walker. 

"Sorry about the interruption and the iffy introduction," she began, with the decency to laugh sheepishly, "I had no idea your father was there. He looked tempted to throw me into the sea of ghosts."

"He always looks like that," Nelacar shrugged. 

"I see where you get it from," she quipped, not stopped by the withering look Nelacar gave her. "Come with me, now, Varen's waiting."

Varen may have been waiting, but she wasn't. She started off immediately, and Nelacar barely had his cloak on by the time she'd opened the doors and starting letting in the frigid air. She laughed at his discomfiture, holding the door open until he reluctantly trundled through it, still struggling with the clasps on his fur cloak. It was damned unfamiliar, a cloak this unwieldy, and it must have showed, for his efforts only made the woman laugh more. 

"Oh, you're a greenhorn," she murmured, with a bubbling laugh. "I'm Modthryth Sword-Weaver, and maybe we can be friends if you last."

"If I last?" Nelacar gave her an incredulous look. She merely smirked in reply, pushing open the doors to the Hall of Countenance and shaking the snow out of her hair much as a dog does. He rolled his eyes and started trying to coax feelings back into his hands, rubbing them together and tucking them into the inside of his cloak.

"You’ll get used to the weather, Nelacar, was it? I think that's what your father was calling you." She laughed. "Varen's upstairs. Second door on your left."

He rolled his eyes towards Aetherius - Syrabane, preserve him - and started fumbling with the cloak clasp once more, ascending the steps up to the second floor. The second door on his left - open, no need to knock, and lit up like the aurora that would decorate the sky if the clouds didn't mask it. The dunmer bent over the table was lit from every angle, colored like an Altmer circus - blue from the symbols on the enchanter, sickly green from the magical focus, a wholesome yellow from the candles embedded into the back. The interplay of light and shadows made his focused face look more animated than it was, and more ominous, too, the light's flicker turning his set mouth into a scowl. Loathe to interrupt a man while he was working, Nelacar stood at the door and waited, watching.

The dunmer - Varen, doubtless - was drawing energy from a soul gem with one hand, guiding the squirming, writhing light onto the ready surface of an amulet. One hand pressed against the cast iron enchanter, keeping the blue light playing on the grand soul gem, and the other played along the grand gem with spider-deft fingers, seizing the reluctant soul from within and holding it tight. When the last of the light drained from the gem, it lost its luster for a second, before hairline cracks started to race across its surface. It shattered with a shockingly soft noise, sending shards and fragments skittering across the enchanter’s surface and over Varen’s hands. The old enchanter didn’t flinch, tightening his hand around the magic and pressing it down into the amulet, smoothing it and stretching it out over the surface like a knitter blocking a shawl. The soul suffused over the amulet, shaking off its reluctance; magic sparked at the enchanter’s fingers as he set its intention. When the amulet glowed a consistent red-gold, he smiled, slipping the necklace over his head with an unusual sigh. Turning, he jumped at the sight of Nelacar, a Dunmeri curse slipping from him.

"How long have you been standing there, boy?" 

"Only a few minutes."

"You'd say that if you were waiting for hours." Varen shook his head, moving the still-glowing amulet within his robes. “You’re the new apprentice, then? You’re specializing in enchanting and illusion, yes?”

“And destruction, serjo.”

Varen raised an eyebrow at him, snorting. “You’re a diplomat’s son, aren’t you? I’m no Indoril noble, boy, you’ll call me Varen or sera like everyone else does, and perhaps Malyn once the cold’s worn you down a little.” 

Varen turned back to the enchanter, sweeping up the gem fragments with his hand and depositing them in a wicker basket in the corner. Nelacar was left to stare at his back in vague consternation, the same feeling that this whole place gave him.

“What enchantment did I put on this amulet?” Varen rounded on him, taking the amulet off with a rough sigh and holding it out. Nelacar stayed still, leaning forward to look at it in Varen’s hand, before the man shook his head impatiently and pressed the amulet into the boy’s hands himself. He blinked, and brought the amulet up close, turning it over in his hands and running his fingers over the central ruby.

“Fortify health,” Nelacar tapped the gold, “the red glow is its signature. And a very strong enchantment - you don’t typically use grand gems for the enchantment of amulets.” 

“Correct,” Varen nodded, pulling the amulet out of Nelacar’s hands and putting it back around his neck. “Good, I won’t have to go over any of the basics.”

“Of course you won’t.”   
“Ah, confidence, I love to see it.” Varen laughed, a raspy sound. “You’re one of four students specializing in enchantment with me. You’ve met Modthryth already, I imagine - she has an outstanding tendency towards inserting herself in all situations. Keen girl - watch out for her.”

“Watch out for her?” 

“Yes, that’s what I said,” Varen said, eyebrow raising in tune with a smile. “Make of that what you will. Lectures are held in the Hall of Elements at 11 every day, and I do expect attendance. After, we have practical lessons at the arcane enchanter. I have the reading list for the class here. Skip the Enchanter’s Primer, focus more on the catalogues and the books by Elinyon. Ever meet him?” 

“No, sir. I’m not acquainted with second century warlocks.” 

“You should be, in this field,” he laughed, an expression of air rather than a full sound. “Once you have these books from the Arcanaeum, I expect to see you at the lecture at 11 tomorrow.”

Varen waved his hand and turned back to the enchanter with a quick smile at Nelacar, pressing his hands back onto the cold iron, setting his shoulders stiffly. Nelacar blinked, grabbing the piece of paper Varen had indicated was a reading list and stepping out of the kaleidoscope room and out into the comparatively dull Hall of Countenance. 

“Do you know where the Arcanaeum is, Nel?” Modthryth’s head peeked around the stairway door, grin splitting her face. “I’ll show you.” 

“Do I have a choice?” 

“No.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Black and white. We decry black and white thinking as the form of an unwell or juvenile mind; reality, we say, contains shades of grey and perhaps even colors beyond that. ‘No issue is black and white’ are words you might hear from an Altmer Kinlady, a Breton Noble, or an Imperial bureaucrat._

_Why is it, then, that we divide souls into black and white?_

_Mages Guild scholars put forth the principle that in a world of shades of grey, the distinction between souls is a true black and white issue. Black souls are those which come from sapient races, and white souls come from lesser creatures. What fraught terms already. Mortals, of course, are our black souls. You (presumably), me, the man who keeps his market stall. Our souls are invariably black souls, as we talk, have a consciousness, and are generally mortal. Lesser creatures are, ah, everything else. What a conceit._

_The Rieklings of Solstheim are agreed upon to have a societal structure and their own language. They have chiefs, they decorate their spaces, and they certainly defend their livelihoods against intruders. And yet their souls are not black. Curious. We come to see that the distinction between black and white souls is a limiting dichotomy given to us by Vanus Galerion; a noble man in many ways, but struck by a traumatic paranoia for anything even tangentially related to the black art of necromancy. His qualms are very understandable on a personal level, but when his personal distaste becomes applied to an entire field of magic, problems begin to arise. The entire discipline of academic enchantment has been shackled to the trauma of a man who died two eras ago; great as that man might have been, he has hindered enchantment for far too long. Once we come to see the distinction between black souls and white souls as arbitrary, an entire new world opens before us._

Nelacar closed the book, running his fingers over the ridged spine absentmindedly. The piles of books around him had been steadily growing in the month he’d been at Winterhold, turning his desk into something of a personal fortress. The walls of leather and paper around him relaxed him; this, at least, was familiar, and would always be. He ran his hands over the cover of the book in his hands, looking back down at the title that was embossed enough to be felt. The leather binding was fresh; printed by the arcaneum’s keeper for circulation within the school. The title ( _On the Exploration of Souls_ ) was solely in the imperial alphabet; but the author’s name was printed twice, in the standard lettering and in the Daedric script. 

Malyn Varen. 

“I edited that, you know,” came a voice from his doorway, heavy and haughty. Nelacar cursed the lack of privacy under his breath, though perhaps the fault was his for leaving the doors open. Perhaps it was this infernal province’s fault for believing that all doors must be heavy oak. He looked up, meeting his classmate’s eyes with a weary nod. 

“I remember very well,” he said, turning to the title page where her name was credited in Daedric script. Vadrathys Dolovas - a mouthful, in Nelacar's opinion, but he knew enough of diplomacy to know you didn't give your opinion to a Telvanni. "You edited the Dunmeri edition, as well."

"I did," Vadrathys smiled like a preening bird, slipping a step further into his room. He caught the sweet scent of something spiced that usually accompanied her, hanging like a cloud of perfume. “And I have another surprise, Nela.” 

“Do you?” He raised an eyebrow, curious despite himself. “What is it?” 

“It’s a surprise,” she purred, “you’ll find out later, when everyone else does. I’ll tell you this, since you asked so kindly. It is from Morrowind.”

"One of those stinking pack animals of yours?" Modthryth trilled from behind Vadrathys. Vadrathys’ face twisted instantly into a scowl, and she spun to display its full rancor to the other woman. Modthryth’s laugh only made Vadrathys’ face darker. 

“It’s rich that a Nord feels she has the grounds to call our pack animals stinking,” Vadrathys said, voice biting. “Considering your national fauna are all covered in wet, reeking hair. Not unlike the people here.” 

“And your people stink of soot and sujamma. We’re even, ain’t we?” Modthryth’s flippant laugh was just about all Vadrathys could handle. Nelacar pushed his chair back an inch or two, outside any prospective blast radii. He could see Vadra’s hand twitching like she intended to use it, clenching and unclenching it as her fingers moved with minds of their own. Some buried thread of diplomacy surfaced in his mind, and Nelacar sighed at the obligations he gave himself. 

“Thryth, Vadra,” he began, with an even-keeled voice he saw made Vadrathys’ eye-twitch in ill-concealed fury, “I want to see what Vadra’s brought to the college, not have to attend a probation hearing for both of you. Please.” 

Vadrathys let a low hiss of air out from between her teeth, setting her shoulders squarely in a way he didn’t particularly like. Her hand was still now though, pressed into the folds of her glittering robes. For a moment, tense silence and the howl of the wind outside reigned between them, but the silence was broken the way it always was - Modthryth’s laughter, high and sharp. This time, his expression of exhaustion was more in-line with Vadrathys’ as Modthryth clapped her hands together loud enough to make the retort echo around his room.

“Oh, Nelly, you’re so worried about us,” she teased, with wide innocent eyes that looked comical on her fishbone-sharp face. “So sweet.”

Syrabane, give him strength. He imagined Vadrathys was thinking something similar, though he wasn’t sure which of the Daedra she would plead to. Azura, perhaps. Vadrathys let out another rattling hiss from between her teeth, and deflated enough to roll her eyes at the Nord. 

“So what little trinket did you get for us, Vady?” Modthryth said, with lilting mockery. 

“Do you think I’ll tell you after you act like _this_?” She hissed, tossing her head back. 

“We’ll all learn later,” Nelacar cut in, “I don’t see the point in trying to learn now. You’ve said you like surprises, Thryth.” 

“I like knowing things first more.”

“I’m leaving,” Vadrathys hissed, “you’ll get to learn when everyone else learns. And you’ll learn that this one thing is better than anything you could accomplish in this forsaken heap.” 

Nelacar sighed deeply as Vadrathys swept away, with the grace only someone trained in making an exit could have. The beetle-wings sewn into her robes clattered softly together until Modthryth drowned out the noise with another bubbling laugh. Nelacar dropped his head into his hand, and Modthryth swanned up to the door with the same grin on her pale face. 

“Lost those Alinor manners already?” 

“Yes, I have.” His matter-of-fact tone made her face drop imperceptibly. She could do with slightly dampened spirits. 

“Ah, you’re no fun. Meeting with Varen’s in ten, Nelly.” 

When she was out of sight of his open door, he dropped his head onto his desk and pressed his face into the Alinor silk that covered the cold wood. The books hemmed him in on all sides; the silk covering still smelled faintly of the sweet resin that perfumed the interior of all his trunks. He breathed deep, closing his eyes and focusing only on the smooth fabric beneath his face. His hands found the amulet around his neck and traced the curving silhouette of it again and again. Smoothness, order, a small amount of respite. He rose, finally, and threw on his fur over-robes for the trek across the courtyard. He should be excited for whatever exotic Ashlander treat Vadra had brought them, but he was only exhausted, and wary of whatever scene would invariably erupt. The snow followed him across the courtyard and into the Hall of Elements; it swirled behind him and the draft made Varen shiver across the room. Nelacar closed the door hastily, and made his way across the room to where the professor and another student stood. Guennola was half in shadow in the corner of the room, waiting with a sullenness he didn’t have the energy to try and break. Varen smiled. 

“You’re early, Nelacar,” he said, rising from the wooden chair he’d pulled into the center of the hall. "My presentation isn't for another ten minutes."

Nelacar's surprise was evident enough that it provoked a raspy laugh from Malyn. "I told you to watch out for Modthryth. She likes you enough to trick you into being early instead of being late, fortunately."

He shifted from foot to foot, almost flushing as he heard soft snickering from Guennola. The gentle twinkling sound from the magical focus slowly drowned the noise out as her snickers tapered off into near-silent exhalations of air. Malyn settled back into the high-backed chair he taught from, the only one in the otherwise clear hall. That inner diplomatic thread in him pushed him towards small talk, but Guen was pressed up against one of the windows, faced away, and Varen had closed his eyes, as if resting. He held in a sigh. 

“How are your readings, Nelacar.” It was a question, but the professor’s tone was flat and abstract.

“Fine, professor,” he said. “I’ve completed the readings for this week and have started the ones for next week.” 

“But what did you get out of them?” A variation in tone, this time, and Malyn straightened up against the chair’s back. His eyes were still closed, and once he settled, he was still as a corpse. 

“Pardon?” 

“I want understanding, not obedience. Tell me about the readings.” 

“Ah.” Nelacar cleared his throat, looking past his professor at the frosted glass windows that lined the room. The pause extended as he searched for words, and Malyn cleared his throat with a short cough. 

“I don’t have all day, Nelacar. My presentation begins in 7 minutes.” 

“Pardon me, professor,” he said, “I think that the readings given have been interesting. I think there’s something to be said about the arbitrariness of soul classifications, but we do need to make a distinction between the levels of power contained within souls. The fact that grand souls and black souls are of equal enchanting power says a lot, doesn’t it?” 

“It does,” Malyn nodded, “and there’s the understanding I wanted. I want my students to aim for the boundaries enchanting, not just know how to use a petty soul to make a sword sparkle a little.” 

That raspy laugh came again, and Nelacar smiled slightly at his professor. 

“I’ll be having a special session in the Midden in two days. Do come.” Nelacar couldn’t quite tell if it was an invitation or a command, but the ghost of a smile on Varen’s face made him excited. “As of now, it will be you, Guennola, Modthryth, and Vadrathys. Perhaps others. A little get together.” 

Malyn opened his eyes as the door to the Hall of Elements opened once more, and began to let forth a trickling stream of figures and a small spread of snow that stuck to the stone floor. He rose to greet the steady stream, and Nelacar stepped back to one of the circular insignias on the floor to make room. A minute before the lesson, the room had 7 people in it, and a minute after that Modthryth tripped her way in, door slamming behind her with a noise that made half the room jump. Her grin was still plastered on her face, and she wormed her way next to Nelacar, poking a finger into the folds of his robe. 

“How was your wait?” Her grin was almost cheshire as she watched for his reaction. 

“Oh, fine.” And, mercifully, Varen began to talk. He could thank Syrabane. 

Never one for attendance checks, Varen simply began, relying on his voice to silence the remaining whispers. A naturally quiet man, the acoustics of the hall and a sliver of magic made him just loud enough to be understood. Nelacar shifted between his feet, glancing towards the front of the group, where Vadrathys stood as if Azura herself held her spine rigid. She leaned forward slightly onto the balls of her feet, tense and still with eagerness, hands in tight fists that shook imperceptibly. Modthryth followed his gaze with a small smirk, pulling her face into an imitation of the other woman’s pride. Nelacar spared her only a glance, looking back at Varen, who’d gone from a brief review of the week’s material to a discussion upon the nature of soul gems themselves. He was still distracted by Vadrathys, whose eager pride made him worry about what her surprise might be. 

“The soul gem is, ultimately, a vessel, a storage container for the magic which powers enchantment. Enchantment is one of the only magical schools in which we rely on outside reserves to provide magic - rightfully so, for if we used our own magic, we’d soon be spent,” Malyn laughed, short and cut off. “I’ve discussed the limitations of classifying souls and gems already. Now we touch on the other issue with soul gems - their fragility.” 

Varen paused, drawing a grand soul gem and some glittering fragments out of his robes as some demonstration. “Imagine if every school of magic used vessels which shatter after a single use. Snow and soul gem fragments would be here in equal amounts. All enchanters dream of a more convenient method, but with only one soul gem on Mundus that doesn’t break, those dreams are what could be called pipe dreams.” 

A quiet murmur passed through their group, indistinct but pointed towards the same theme. Azura’s Star. Any novice enchanter learned of the exception to the rules of soul gems; the one creation that defied fragility. Why teach them this? 

“Ah, you’re doubting me.” Varen said, and silenced the murmur. “Azura’s Star, yes, the physical artefact of our Lady of dawn and dusk.” 

Varen reached beneath the chair, and when he raised up once more, the light reflected off the branching shape held within his lap. Nelacar’s eyes locked onto the star that shone in Varen’s lap. Eight elegant points twisted away from its gem encrusted nucleus, and he couldn’t tell in the dim hall if it reflected the light from the magical focus, or if it glowed from within. A gentler blue than a grand soul gem, it reminded him of the soft sky at dusk on Alinor, or the soft luminescence of moonstone. For a long moment, there was silence, as everyone stared at the star. Modthryth, even, was silent, her keen eyes fixed on the star. 

“This, I think, will lend itself well to some of our studies.” Varen smiled, holding the star gently. “And we still study it in turn. It’s a rare opportunity to have an inexhaustible resource, and even rarer to have the chance to see what makes this gem different than the others. I would like to thank your fellow student, Vadrathys, for this opportunity.”

Vadrathys set her shoulders back like a peacock preparing to spread its tail. Modthryth flickered her eyes over to the Dunmer, and Nelacar followed her gaze. Vadrathys bowed slightly, thin smile across her haughty face. He watched Thryth’s eyes light up with an emotion he couldn’t place beyond knowing that it was one of burning intensity. The smooth set of her angular face said nothing to indicate her inclinations. It could be love or hate behind those eyes, but either way, it was consuming. Nelacar shuddered and looked away, back at the star that shone dimly. Varen was saying something in his barely amused voice, but Nelacar couldn’t focus on anything but the elegant shape of the thing. 

“Hey, Nelly,” Modthryth whispered, hooking one of her bony fingers into the collar of his robes. He raised an eyebrow. 

“Were you invited?” The fire behind her eyes was gone, replaced by the usual twinkle and crooked smile. Varen was winding down his lecture now, taking questions from their small group and inviting Vadrathys forward. She swept forward next to Varen’s chair, bringing her arms together and making her sleeves an unbroken circle of draped fabric and glinting beetle wings. 

He nodded, and Thryth grinned, poking the finger further into his robes and flipping the collar up. He sighed, raising his hand to brush it down and brush her hand off his shoulder. 

“You, me, Vady, and Guen. Maybe that spellsword, too.” She hummed, watching Vadrathys fawn in the spotlight. Nelacar nodded absently, looking between the Dunmer and the star she’d brought. 

“It has been floating around listlessly for some time, falling into hands that couldn’t do anything good with it. Fools and idolaters, wastrels and drunkards.” Vadrathys spit with Telvanni venom. “My family finally seized it on this border, and now we can use it for good, to work towards light and understanding.” 

She moved a hand to rest on one of the curving star spokes, and he wondered whether it was cold or warm to the touch. “A bright day, for a bright star.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did not, in fact, abandon this venture. hopefully the next update will not take so long; fortunately writing these characters is very fun & getting into the thick of magical experimentation is also going to be entertaining. thank you for reading!


End file.
